


Knight of the Fallen

by BleedingBlueKunoichi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, BAMF Peter Hale, BAMF Stiles, Blood and Gore, Cryptic Deaton, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Graphic Description, M/M, Mates Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Moral Ambiguity, My First Work in This Fandom, Mythology - Freeform, Non-Human Stiles, Possible Mpreg, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Sassy Peter Hale, Scott McCall is a Bad Alpha, Scott is a Bad Friend, Steter Week, Stiles Stilinski Saves The Day, The Steter Network, True Alpha Scott McCall, Werewolf Culture, Wingfic, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 12:11:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12911655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleedingBlueKunoichi/pseuds/BleedingBlueKunoichi
Summary: Things are not always as they appear.Everyone has their secrets.He has always done everything possible to protect those that are his. And if by some chance he failed... Stiles would slaughter whole bloodlines, burn the world to bring them back to him.When the well-meaning intentions of others draw a new line, some "take to the grave" secrets come out...New bonds will be forged. Some will be tested. Others will fray and shatter.New and old enemies will come and go...How will the bonds that bind stay? Who will stay? Who will leave?





	Knight of the Fallen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Esper_Found](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esper_Found/gifts).



> I'm so ecstatic to finally have a work posted up. So much work goes into writing, coding and such for these... it's insane.
> 
> This was one as a christmas/birthday fic for my partner in crime, Yooshii^^.
> 
> I've had this self-indulgent scene idea for a wing fic... long story short Yooshii sai I had to write or her birthday, well one thing lead to another... and here we are
> 
>  
> 
> I gotta say that without some amazing people cheering me on and looking it over constantly... I don't know if this would have made it here(at least not anytime soon).
> 
> Many thanks and appreciation to:
> 
> SqishySterek/Herm_own_ninny, MasterKane, Malapropian, FeelingsDusk, Merwin_Me, Red_Crate, brandileeder, froggydarren, gksmentality,  
> Green
> 
> And of course my amazing Beta, Drebin.
> 
> Last but not least the amazing Steter Network

“Stiles! There’s too many of ‘em!”

 Scott looked around frantically trying to assess the situation, it's a wonder his head hadn’t spun off. Regardless of how he tried looking at it, this was a trap plain and simple. Scott’s worry was mounting as the sounds of more of these pale grey and yellow Gollum-esque creatures were stampeding through the forest.

 The sounds of the fight and the reinforcements were blending too much for him to even think about guessing how many more were coming. Maybe he should have focused more on those lessons Derek, hell even Peter, tried teaching him. It was too much; the hard thumping impacts as feet hit the ground, the varying heartbeats everywhere… almost like an orchestrated march of doom composed by mother nature herself. All he knew was there were more coming than what they started with.

 Things did not bode well... with Allison, Cora, Derek and Isaac already heading back to the pack house to get medical attention. All he had left was Kira, Erica, Boyd, Malia, and Stiles, and apparently, Peter stuck around this time… Only seven of his pack semi-scattered about were left against about thirty of these ugly as sin creatures.

 All around him, Scott could see his pack fading. Malia and Kira were fighting practically back to back. Stiles was a few yards away, doing surprisingly well with his bat, with Peter a good twenty yards or so away from him.

 Scott ducked away from a flying rock whizzing by his head. Spotting the overgrown bald gremlin with what looked like some sort of slingshot in its hand he saw malia tackling it to the ground. She begrudgingly knocked it out instead at Scott’s noise of protest at the beginning motions of her finishing blow. Erica and Boyd were closer to the edges of battle, trying to keep the beasts from completely encircling them and blocking the way they came in.

 Scott knew he wasn’t the smartest in his pack, but even he could see this whole situation was bleak and getting closer to becoming dire. With another fury filled howl of pain from Erica, the creature got its head slammed against the rock. Erica then fell to her knees, her chest heaving and gurgling. She tried to catch a breath and heal as much as was possible, with Boyd standing guard around her. They had all been out tracking the strange scent for most of the day before falling prey to an ambush. Fighting for what felt like hours; even with werewolf stamina, something had to give.

 Scott looked at Erica, taking in the exhausted and injured state she sat in. His gaze naturally went to Boyd, as where one was the other was never far off, such is the nature of a mated pair. He noted the same exhaustion but not as much physical damage. Seeing his pack like this and partially knowing what's coming, there was no other choice. It was time to get out while there’s still an opportunity. Scott watched as Boyd quickly immobilized the last creature close to them.

 It was time to get the hell out of dodge.

  “Boyd, take Erica back to the house with Derek and Allison. GO!”

 Reluctantly, they obeyed their _current_ alpha in command.

 “Kira, Malia, let's go! Sti-”

 Before Scott could even attempt to yell to his brother, Stiles called for help.

 “Scott! Come on man, Peter needs help!”

 Nothing much got to Stiles these days, not after all the hell they had gone through together… but this… he wouldn’t be able to handle what might happen. Somehow Peter had been pushed a bit further away from the rest of the pack. He had three of the vile goblin creatures on him already, with more headed his way. Stiles wasn't sure how intelligent they were, but Peter was starting to look like cornered prey.

 Scott looked at his best friend and shook his head. With the others already headed back, it just left Kira, Malia, and Stiles... There was no possible way they could make it over there to get Peter and then run back to safety. He was not about to risk the four of them for just one person as the reinforcements were right on top of them. Besides, Peter had always seemed more of an old world warrior type. If he didn’t make it out, oh well, to die in battle was the greatest honor for fighters. Scott looked at Peter, the true alpha nodded in acknowledgment to the born-again beta. Then he turned and walked away, pulling a hesitant Kira away and dragging Malia kicking and screaming as she realized what was about to happen.

 Scott stopped suddenly. With Malia’s screeching screams, growls and roars reverberating inside his skull, he barely noticed that it was just their three distinct heartbeats running with them.

 ‘ _Where is…’_

 As he turned to look back, he saw Stiles was just standing there...like he was frozen for some reason.

 “Stiles! Snap out of it!. We gotta go. **Now!** ”

 With each passing second, the creatures drew closer and their small window for a tactical retreat was closing.

 Stiles still did not move.

 “Come on! Stiles, move!” Scott bellowed in dire concern and worry for his brother and pack mate.

 Stiles had heard Scott, but he was looking at Peter. It was as if time was slowing down… he could see the wolf ripping into the goblins, his body holding so much grace and elegance. Watching Peter fight was truly a sight to behold. As if Peter sensed his gaze he looked up, Peter's beautiful, sorrow-gained, blue, wolven eyes meeting Stiles’ own. Peter held the gaze, even as one goblin tried its last swipe at his torso on the way to the ground, not even sparing it a glance, as his hand and arm thrusted through the obsidian matted chest of the dying creature.

 Peter looked past Stiles and saw that Scott, the 'true alpha', was herding and ordering his pack to head back to the safe house. It was then that the sudden stomach dropping realization hit- his pack was abandoning him. Not that he cared much for Scott, but he did care for the pack in his own way. This though... this still hurt.

  _'True Alpha my ass,’_ Peter thought.

 ‘ _That asshole just_ _ **left**_ _me- abandoned one of his own pack- to fight for my life… again... or to die by the hands of these dreadfully vile vermin; rather than attempting to distract them long enough for me to escape as well._ _Fucking pathetic - the ungrateful runt was always first to threaten his death, but of course, a “True Alpha” is not supposed to kill…. “We are supposed to be saving them,” he says… what a load of shit. Scott never was one to get his own claws dirty.'_

 Peter was fuming.

 ‘ _I don't regret much… though out of it all, **never** have I regretted anything more than biting him that night.’_

 Hearing Scott call out to Stiles, pulled him out of his thoughts. Realizing he was still staring, he looked into those ever-changing, whiskey-colored orbs for what could be the last time. His heart lurched a little at the thought of never seeing them full of wonder, curiosity, and mischief...never hearing the laugh that had somehow grown on him... Seeing Derek actually happy for once and with someone who would be the perfect match for him... Cora blossoming into an amazing, powerful wolf like her mother.

Peter allowed himself a brief moment to mourn over and regret what might have been...then grew determined to live just to spite that pup playing at being alpha...

 “Stiles, hurry!”

 The whiskey eyed boy could hear Scott calling, but it didn’t matter as at that moment he saw longing and the beginning shift of resignation cross Peter’s face. He saw the exact second when Peter realized that the pack he had claimed as his, was abandoning him...not giving a rat's ass, just leaving him to either die horribly...again... or a very slim chance at life. Peter stopped looking at him, he was already tearing into the next creature within reach. Peter’s wolf eyes came to life, the innate wildness seeping through. Not giving a chance for resignation to settle in, Stiles took off.

He didn't spare a second to look back at Scott. Stiles held his bat high in the air, an inhuman, screeching war cry pierced through the sounding echoes from Peter's battle. Shocking a few of the apparently semi-intelligent goblins with his sudden appearance, he started swinging his bat, knocking some over, killing others...regardless, he was mowing them down with a great fury.

Scott heard Stiles moving; sighing in relief, he hoisted a livid Malia over his shoulders, and pulling Kira by the hand, he lead them to safety. It would be much later when Scott would realize that while Stiles did move, he didn't follow. He instead went to Peter.

A battle cry broke the ongoing cacophony. Peter looked up, hoping it wasn't a new creature to contend with. What he saw instead was something that in his later reflections would bring forth awe and wonder.

The once honey-whiskey eyed boy had changed, making Peter think of all the great legends of the blessed wolf-berserker warriors of old, the Ulfhednar. Those gangly limbs were now lithe and swift, holding so much unbridled natural power, it was stunning. The Stiles coming towards him was fierce and ferocious, and if not for the mischievous and partially dark glint in his eyes and a smirk on his face, he would have called this human boy feral in every sense of the word.

 A sense of blood frenzy set naturally upon his body like a second skin, Stiles appeared as if no pain was deterring him. In his observations, he failed to notice that the young human had been talking this whole time.

 Stiles swung his bat hard into the knees of a goblin rushing him from the left. A loud crack followed by a quick cry of pain joined in the ambient noise, then going quiet as his bat bashed into its face silencing it forever.

 “Six.” he said with rising excitement, sidestepping the dying goblin he kept his goal firmly in mind.

 Another goblin hobbled up to him. Swinging his bat up by his side he grabbed his modified slugger by its middle with both hands, thrusting the base into the pale Gimpy Goblin’s groin, stunning it. Pulling it back to his right side he swung, whirling it upwards, nailing it in the side of its head in a seemingly effortless movement. Gimpy stumbled backward,

 “Seven!” He exclaimed preemptively.

 Without time to really think the next was right on top of him. Rolling his torso to the left, Stiles narrowly missed the blade of this goblin’s axe. Gripping the base of his bat, he brought it up guarding his neck as he spun away avoiding the close contact. Planting his right foot he brought his bat swinging down across his chest and into the goblin’s gut. The creature stumbled to its knees trying to work through the pain.

 A glint of metal caught Stiles’ eye, barely alerting him to the axe coming for his head. He brought the bat from the outside knocking into the newcomer’s wrist bringing it to the inside, causing the pale hand to fumble its weapon. He snaps his bat in real tight for a hit to its gut.

 Stiles heard the first axe wielder getting back on its feet. “Shit!” he hissed.

 Swinging his bat backwards, he nails it in the back of its left leg, sending it crashing on its ass rolling backwards. Swiftly he turns back to the second axe carrying goblin, slashing his bat through the air, roughly slamming into its head. With the painful reverb from the impact, Stiles knew the goblin’s skull was cracked for good.

 Stiles grinned sharply “Eight.”, he declared with glee.

 Turning on his heel, Stiles looks down and without a second thought his bat comes crashing down on the underside of the first axe goblin’s jaw and behind his ear.

 “Nine!” His maniacal glee growing by the second.

 Stiles walked past the axe wielders, almost missing Gimpy struggling to get up. He pulled up his right arm, bat in hand, snapping his arm out he backhanded Gimpy across the head. Falling over to the left from the impact; Gimpy laid on the ground, never to get up again. Stiles paused mid-step glaring at the fresh corpse, daring it to get back up again.

 “And stay down.” he spat coldly.

 Peter's mouth dropped in astonishment… _‘What. The._ _ **Fuck**_ _. He’s fucking_ _ **counting**_ _them!’_

 Shaking his head, Peter kept dodging, ripping and shredding through the small mob forming around him. By the time Stiles reached his side he demanded with a good amount of cheek, “Stiles! Why in the _**hell**_ are you here?”

 Not that Peter wasn't secretly grateful for the help, but he really did _not_ want things to go south especially now it would be more than just his life on his hands.

 Stiles smirked, and through his laughs and grunts of effort with each swing of his trusty bat he answered;

 “Simply or intrinsically Peter?”

 Peter just glared, sadly not having time for the much-loved games.

 Within an exaggerated put upon groan, he sighed and rolling out the growing tension in his shoulders.

 “Ohana.” He quipped.

 “Ohana?! What the hell, Stiles?” Peter vehemently shot back, with his claws knuckle deep in the eye sockets of the enemy at hand, blindingly crushing it to death.

 Stiles knocked the goblin’s head standing before him with another heavy-handed blow from his bat, violently adjusting it to sit at an odd angle before falling to its knees. His bat was raised high into the air above his head, as he brought it down, a screaming fury forced itself from his chest, as the bat cut through the wind and into the face of the nearly decapitated kneeling goblin.

Suddenly with a resounding crack and splorch, his bat ended up stuck in the pale grey goblin's skull. Stiles grunted as he put his foot on the skull, using it to brace himself to gain more leverage. Bits of bloody flesh and greyish brain matter flew trailing the arc of Stiles' bat, like a glorious banner of gore, as he ripped it from the near unrecognizable skull.

A stray piece landed on Peter's cheek. He grimaced, as he flicked it off his eyes narrowed at Stiles.

“It’s Disney, Peter…” with a nonchalant tone, he grunted from the goblins punch to his gut. Taking a step back, Stiles swung a bit blindly, catching the creature full on in the balls.

With his voice a bit raspy, trying to recoup he continued.

“So many screwed up things with that company… But…”

Stepping over the doubled over creature, Stiles kicked at the back of its knees, sending it stumbling right into Peter's waiting claws. Stiles looked into Peter's eyes and with real sincerity in his voice and body, he continued on with the conversation like it was just another ordinary day weeding the garden.

“Ohana is one thing they did manage to get right. It means family, and family means no one gets left behind or forgotten.”  
  
Stiles spun around, at the sound of a large dry branch snapping behind him and a deep growl. Immediately moving his body into a defensive position, he shifted around centering himself. Coming up mid turn, Stiles used the boosted momentum to swiftly swing at the creature. His bat ripped through the air catching it just underneath the jaw.

Going with the flow; he crouched down taking a knee, Stiles smirked at the rather video game like irony of this exact moment. With his knee in the dirt and his bat in hand, stretching out, looking like an extension of his body… His head hung low, eyes never leaving the enemy. His posture was rather reminiscent of a game hero just after doling out the finishing blow to a dungeon boss.

He watched as the headless body dropped to its knees. Hearing a thud just behind the kneeling corpse, Stiles readied himself preparing for a new enemy.

As the body finally collapsed to the ground, Stiles was shocked at first.Turning around in a circle, frantically Stiles' eyes scanned around him.

 _'Nothing is out of the presently normal...'_ he thought eerily.

Nothing was there; not more goblins, not a new creature, or some other woodland beastie… just him and Peter.

Then amongst the leaves and twigs behind the last goblin’s corpse, he spotted a strange looking thing on the ground. Inching closer, he cautiously poked at it with his bat; rolling the pale matted hairy thing over.

Stiles laughed so loud at his discovery.

"Oh my god...Peter! Look I took its head off!"

He proudly picked it up by its matted greasy hair holding the proof high in the air for Peter to see. A sharp feral grin grew on his face. Let it never be said that you can't shorten a goblin by a head at neck level with a bat. His sharp grin faded with a realization; a smile grew in its place a mix of mischief, accomplishment, and mirth.

“And that! My dear furry friend… that makes twelve.” Stiles’s excited laughter echoed across the clearing.

Tossing the head aside, Stiles avoided the various corpses as he walked over to the wolf.

Chuckling at the young man's antics; he teased him good-naturedly.

“Twelve? My dear Bambie... try fourteen.”

Stiles gasped and glared at the grinning wolf.

"Though I do have to say, Bambi,” Peter’s words eloquently flowed out his mouth with a well-practiced self-assured sass.

“12 is not bad… for a human."

“Hey!” Stiles squawked indignantly.

“ _This_ human can do some pretty amazing things, some that even your furry butt could only dream of!”

Peter glanced suspiciously at Stiles as heard the first telling skip in the beat of his heart. It left him curious, and he truly began to wonder about his pack-mate and ally.

 Pausing, Stiles thought back to what he saw of Peter's body count, searching for any sort of discrepancy… then it dawned on him

 “Hey! Just because that goblin had two heads doesn’t mean it counts as two.”

 Peter's chuckle grew into a full belly laugh at the picture Stiles made. Here was this skinny but lithe, two-legged homo sapien- covered in splotches and splatters of blood and some entrails- yelling about the unfairness of one of Peter's kills. Who would have ever expected to see Stiles down in the trenches, cracking jokes of all things, smiling and laughing like all around him was life and joy… not the death and beginning stenches of decay that actually surrounded them.

 Peter stopped laughing and froze at the new sounds coming in their direction. Cocking his head to the side, he tried to differentiate all the sounds, narrowing it down to just those out of place. His fluorescent blue eyes searched for anything out of place, body on full alert.

 Stiles walked closer to his new shield brother; standing right beside him, he placed his hand on Peter's shoulder. Stiles felt the tension carried in his shoulders lessening. Then in a much softer and subdued tone than before, he leaned in a bit closer to him, whispering teasingly.

 “So, tell me, Peter. What do your wolf eyes see?”

 Stiles snickered a bit- it's not every day his vast knowledge of all things Middle Earth could come into a clever and witty play with words...even in their fucked up Murphy's Law like lives as of late.

 At Stiles' interruption, Peter put a finger to the cupid’s bow lips in a non-verbal bid for silence. Stiles huffed a bit but listened...for once.

 Peter brought his focus back to the small clearing in front of them,

with the edge of the forest just on the other side. He could hear branches breaking and the hard heavy thudding of many feet...some faster than the others.

 “There's more coming.” He uttered so softly that if Stiles had not been standing right beside him he would have missed it entirely.

 “They are about a mile away and closing in rather quickly.”

 A few growling howls echoed across the area. The faster feet that swiftly maneuvered around the trees and bushes, instead of plowing right through like their companions, were gaining on them...

  “A few Outriders are outpacing the rest,” Peter muttered.

 Quickly Peter grabbed his pack-mate's arm, getting his attention. Taking a deep breath he looked at Stiles.

 “Stiles, listen...they are faster, taller and marginally smarter than the rest.”

 He knew their time was running short and the possibility of him coming out of this alive was slim. Stiles came back for him, saved him... now it was his turn. He wouldn’t be able to hold off that many for long, but it just might be long enough to give Stiles a fighting chance.

 Peter had already resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't making it past today alive… and coming back from the dead again would be even harder to do the second time around than the first; death can be reasoned or bargained with at least once if you know what you're doing… tempting fate twice is practically unheard of.

 Peter straightened his shoulders, ready to say goodbye to the most unlikely friend he had ever had and whatever potential it might have brought.

 “Stiles. I want to thank you for coming back for me… risking your life for mine, when not even our fearless optimistic leader could bear it, I consider it a great honor having you by my side.” He paused, a wistful daydreaming expression softening his face.

 “What a wolf you would have made… Stiles, you may be human in bone and blood, but your heart and soul is of the wolves of old. You’re special, and those idiots will never see it.”

 Stiles was a bit stunned at the words Peter had said.

 ‘ _Did Peter really see him as an equal? He just did what any friend, any pack-mate should have done.’_

 A slight blush crept up his cheeks at the compliment. Stiles hoped with all the blood, sweat and dirt Peter couldn't see it.

 Peter genuinely smiled, with not a hint of ulterior motive in all of his body.

 “Stay by my side as much as possible and if things get too crazy and I tell you to run, then you run...if only one of us has a chance to live, you take it and run.”

 He looked at the blue-eyed wolf, Peter's every emotion flickered across his face as quickly as they came. The walls that guarded him better than Fort Knox, the mask he wore every day, all of his defenses...gone... they were just, gone. Peter was never this easy to read. Never before had Stiles seen pure and genuine concern and worry for his well-being from Peter; not without some sort of other motive behind it at least.

  _'’Why would Peter feel honored to have me by his- ...Wait. He wants me to run!? No. Just no. That's not… no… that’s…no, hell no! That’s_ _ **not**_ _happening._ '

 Stiles shook his head in disagreement. With absolute steadfast certainty, he looked Peter in the eyes. Holding his gaze, Stiles spoke in a kind but commanding tone stating how things were going to happen.

 “No! I am staying by _your_ side, Peter. Bring on the hoards of Hell! I _refuse_ to run unless you’re right there with me.” Taking a steadying breath, he continued.

 “I won't leave you to die by yourself. You would truly never leave a pack-mate to die, so don't expect me to either. We make out together or we don't.”

 His words were so impassioned, an odd, slightly curious look crossed Peter’s face at Stiles’ last statement. Gesturing wildly, Stiles didn’t seem to catch his possible slip, nor Peter’s reaction.

 “I refuse to let someone I care about die alone, not when I can actually do something to help...not again…” His words took on a downtrodden feel as memories of past mistakes tried breaking out of the boxes he had stuffed them in.

 “If by my life or my death, I can protect you. I will.”

Stiles stood there resolute, his words hanging in the air, not once faltering in keeping the wolf's gaze. His word is his bond, his promise.

 Peter was taken aback, his mouth dropping slightly; he was a bit stunned not just at his choice of words but the oath-like feeling they held. The thundering feet hitting the earth grew louder and louder. As much as Peter wanted to talk more with Stiles… time was nonexistent. Stiles couldn't hear the thunder of potential death rising. He had no idea how little chance they had of making it out of this alive.

 Peter nodded to him in agreement. He opened his mouth to say something, but the opportunity vanished, just as the Outriders were about to break the treeline fifty yards away.

 “Incoming!” He yelled.

 Quickly, Peter's beta shift rose to the surface; getting into a defensive position standing still beside Stiles – a few steps just in front of him.

 “Get rea-”

 The Outriders came bursting through the treeline, stopping at the sudden clearing before them with their bulky chests heaving from exertion.

 These Orc-like creatures were vastly different from those they fought before; which Peter had assumed to be a scouting party. Their decrepit leather-like skin was a mix of slate grey and inky black. Their features rough like their hides; with pointed box ears, yellow mismatched sharp fangs jutting out of their mouths. The protruding furrowed brow made it where you could barely see the biohazard yellow of their beady eyes.

 They stood about a foot taller than Peter's own head, long dirty matted shoulder length black hair that clung to their sweat and debris covered skin. The hard black leather armor covered from the shoulders down to a long breechcloth; leaving the arms, face, and legs bare. Some carrying large branch like staffs, while others had war axes.

 Stiles' eyes widened at the sight of eight monstrous Outriders, as Peter called them, stopped just ahead of them. Without taking his eyes off the new enemy he reached over, grabbing Peter's clawed hand, squeezing it, as if to say he’s still right here with him. In the next beat of his heart, he felt Peter squeeze back.

 One of the larger Outriders inhaled deeply, it's yellow eyes zeroed in on Peter and Stiles instantly. The beast of a humanoid creature brought its staff in front of him, getting ready to attack, and roared from deep within its chest. The trees, rocks, even the ground beneath Stiles and Peter's feet rumbled with the intensity erupting from its mouth.

 Peter shot a quick glance towards Stiles as he heard the boy take in a quick deep breath. He watched as Stiles readied his bat and widened his stance, smoothly into low a well-balanced position. Stiles' eyes bled from the general happy go lucky smart ass to this ferocious calculating creature with a reigning passionate fury and a self-assured don't-give-a-flying-fuck attitude.

 With a sharp maniacal grin on his face, Stiles yelled.

  “Hey! You with the glorified stick! Come bring your pretty face to my bat!”

“Really, Stiles.” he exasperated, “How long have you been waiting to say that?”.

Stiles just grinned, stating matter-of-factly. “One does not simply wait for the right time, opportunity will _always_ present itself if you wish it.”

With those last spoken words, the staff-wielding beast of an orc swung his weapon towards Stiles so hard and fast you could hear it coming as it forced its way through the air.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and Comments are very much loved an appreciated ^^
> 
> Let's play a game, shall we... How many Lord of the rings references can you find? Or maybe pop culture references in general?
> 
> Winner gets a preview of the next chapter.
> 
> Feel free to guess the creature Stiles really is... full reveal is tentatively in chapter 3
> 
> I have up to chapter 4 fully plotted out currently... Though I will be focusing on my Steter Secret Santa from now till it done(it's due the 27th). If muse demands I get things going for chapter 2, I will. 
> 
> Feel free to say hi, talk fandom an such. 
> 
> You can find me at:  
> [Tumblr](https://bleedingbluekunoichi.tumblr.com)  
> Discord: BleedingBlueKunoichi#0072


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